


67 Letters and Counting

by dannyboii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 420, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Arguments, Asexual Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Fighting, Getting Together, Keith (Voltron) has glasses, Keith (Voltron) has piercings, Kissing, Letters, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, OMIGOD THEY WERE ROOMATES, and they were ROOMMATES, hurt/comfort i think, lol, mentions of weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 14:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17427245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyboii/pseuds/dannyboii
Summary: Dear Keith, it said.I love you. There. I said it.





	67 Letters and Counting

Keith scrolled through the forums of Lance’s fan page, hoping to find some inspiration for Lance’s upcoming new song. Fanboys, Fangirls, and the like were all in a panic. They all had theories on what it could be about, what its genre would be, whether or not it would feature a famous artist, or something completely different and not Lance-like.

 

_ OMG what if its a duet???  _ wrote one user, by the name of ‘lances-girl09”

 

_ I hope its another luv song!!!!!  _ typed another, going by the username of ‘betterthan-fake’

 

_ What if its a sad song :(? _

 

_ I know im going 2 love it no matter what, but im so curious _

 

_ Guys please, lance cant focus if you keep hoping for one thing when its the other!!! _

 

_ What do you mean, Lance? Lance doesn’t write his own music, he has a songwriter. _

 

_ *le gasp!* Lance would never have a songwriter! Hes too creatively inclined to resort to such a thing xD! Hes basically my husband anyways _

 

And on and on and on, it went. When they weren’t all panicking over a new song about to come out or a new song that has come out, they’re all trying to figure out Lance’s personal life. For example, that songwriter bizz was just the tip of the iceberg- they’ve even tried to get into contact with Lance’s fifteen-year-old sister, Veronica, in the past. That’s when Lance decided to set some boundaries with his fans and family. Of course, those boundaries didn’t stop everyone, Lance’s sister and brothers had received letters and packages almost daily before Lance had them open up secret P.O. boxes the fans don’t know about. It was a whole thing.

 

Keith found himself growing tired of these nonsensical comments, so he opened up a separate tab. In the search bar, he typed, “how to fall out of love” Google autocomplete finishing his sentence for him,  and came up with plenty of useless results he’s already read before. All of them, useless. However, it did bring up good inspiration for some lyrics. ‘lances-girl09’ was right- it is a duet. The only problem is that Lance doesn’t know who to sing it with. He keeps thinking about asking Allura, his manager and former member of the all-girl band The Altean Stars, before they disbanded after one of them passed away in a tragic accident, to sing with him, but she keeps rejecting his offer. Fervently. Lance just can’t stand it when people tell him no.

 

Keith clicks on the purple link of an article- an article he’s read countless of times in an effort to ditch these stupid feelings. It’s not like they’ll get him anywhere with Lance. Unfortunately. However, he does find inspiration in these articles; the way they’re so genuinely written by someone who fell in love with the wrong person. You can really tell how love can hurt someone.

 

Keith finds it moving.

 

Keith found himself in the zone of songwriting, his crappy green 94-cent one-subject notebook filled with scratchy illegible handwriting of different colors and levels of franticness; how sudden and new the inspiration is depicted by the deep grooves in the paper, or how deeply thought out and aged the thoughts were by how gently, yet scratchily, they were written. All of it was personal to Keith. It just took some tinkering and word replacement before it became meaningless word-garbage strung out into a two and a half minute song about a girl with hair and eyes and facial features. Keith’s mother used to tell him that unreadable handwriting was the best security for any secrets, so Keith should always treasure his writing style. And he did because it looked like his mom’s.

 

Words were floating in and out of Keith’s brain, deciding which word went where or which word belonged in the recycling for another song in the late future. There was a separate blue 94-cent one-subject notebook for recycled words.  _ You make me feel like this / Restless and Useless / The way you smile at me / Borders on abusive  _ … On and on and on the words came to Keith with ease. It made him excited because that meant that he could get this song finished by tonight before Lance attended a small town festival he was invited to. Nobody in the town thought he would agree to something like this for such a nameless town, but Lance thought it would be fun- he had another week before his next show so why not, right?

 

Keith could tell you why not.

 

Because Lance promised them an early release of his new song.

 

You know.

 

The one Keith is working on right now.

 

The one that was supposed to be released three months from now.

 

That new song.

 

Keith took a deep breath and sighed. Why did he have to fall in love with Lance of all people? Honestly, of all 7.6 billion people in the world, why him? Lance McClain, a small town boy from Oregon, a rising superstar in the world of music, childish and immature, Lance McClain. But Keith knew that that wasn’t all to Lance. Keith knew that when Lance was sad, he would send out a positive message on Twitter because he hated to make his fans sad. Keith knew that Lance loved animals of all sizes and was a vegetarian because of that. That Lance liked sugary drinks in the mornings, and cold breakfast foods. That Lance liked cauliflower but hated broccoli. That Lance had a complex and extensive skincare routine he followed daily, That Lance was doing this small festival for fun, that he was doing this entire tour for fun. That Lance is always so excited to meet his fans and new people. That he liked to make others happy before himself.

 

Keith knew that Lance was truly a great and kind person.

 

But right now, he was being obnoxious and selfish by asking Keith to finish this song in less than three hours. Keith ended up locking himself in Lance’s room on the tour bus, because it was the only room available and because it actually had a functioning lock, unlike numerous hotel rooms he’s stayed at in the past. He shudders at that thought. He was starting to lose his train of thought.  _ Loving you hurts / Old and yellowed bruises decorate my heart / ‘Course they’re slowly fadin’ / But my heart's still broken / By you- _

 

A sudden pounding was heard at the door and Keith was torn from the zone. He unlocked the door and yanked it open. Of course, he was greeted by Lance.

 

“What do you want, Lance?” he scowls, lazily holding the door open.

 

Lance shrugs. “Just wanted to see how things were going, wanted to see if you wanted to get some lunch with Pidge and Hunk and me?”

 

Keith was about to say no before his stomach betrayed him and began to gurgle and growl.

 

“Great!” Lance said, a smile plastered on his face. He grabbed Keith by his bicep and pulled him from the doorway and into the rest of the cramped bus. From there, he was forcibly escorted off the bus and immediately found himself face-to-face with a Subway, the sun white-hot and blazing behind it.

 

Keith used to work at a Subway. Lance knows this. Keith has hated Subway ever since. Lance also knows this. Keith turned and glared at Lance, who sheepishly grinned in return. Keith didn’t see Hunk or Pidge anywhere in the parking lot, so he assumed they were already inside. Those traitors.

 

Walking into the Subway, Keith felt that familiar refrigerated chill every Subway came with. Pleasant on hot days, unforgiving on cold ones. When the employees behind the counter saw Lance behind Keith, they began to chatter nervously with one another. Keith rolled his eyes and approached the counter. Oh, he realized. They have soups now. Keith likes soup. They had a tomato and basil soup. Keith asked if he had to order a sandwich in order to get the soup. He was told no since he was with Lance McClain.

 

Keith did not have to pay for his soup. It was good. The VitaWater was shit though, which was disappointing. It just tasted like kind of juice. As Pidge, Hunk, and Lance enjoyed their sandwiches, Keith’s mind kept flickering back to the song. They were about two hours away from the small town Keith couldn’t remember the name of, which gave him about two and a half hours before Lance needed it. Keith could work with that time frame.

 

He tapped his fingers on the sticky tabletop, trying to figure out what sort of beat could go with the song. If he put the crescendo towards the end, then they could fade the last thirty seconds of the song out in a more natural way, making the song flow better. Right? Great, now he was second-guessing himself. Something he really only did in a panic. Which meant he was panicking.

 

Keith tried humming a part of the song, but the beat he chose wasn’t flowing well with the lyrics. He tried again with another beat, but that flowed poorly as well.

 

_ C’mon,  _ he told himself,  _ You’ve written a song in thirty minutes before, beat and everything, you can do this.  _

 

“Yeah, but that song sucked,” he said aloud.

 

“What?” Lance asked, and the conversation at the table died. Now everyone’s attention was on Keith.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just thinking to myself about the song I’m working on- it’s going well, lyrically, but not so well rhythmically.”

 

They all hummed in understanding.

 

\---

 

After lunch, Keith holed himself up in the tour bus room with the rest of his gross VitaWater. He needed them Vitas. He needed them to work their brain magic because so far, after lunch, his brain had stopped working. Fervently, he tapped his pencil against his knee. They left that dinky little Subway over half an hour ago, giving Keith less than two hours to finish this song.

 

Keith chucked his blue and purple mechanical pencil. This was so irritating! Keith hated being on a time-crunch, especially the ones that focused on his songs and music. He threw himself backward onto the pillow, the smell of Lance’s shampooed hair wafting into the air and into Keith’s nose. Even though Lance had a long and obnoxious skincare routine, Keith could smell men’s 2-in-1 shampoo and body wash a mile away. Keith smiled at that and closed his eyes, realizing how exhausted he was.

 

Keith dreamt of finishing the song and singing it with Lance. As if Keith could actually sing in front of people. Dream Keith scoffed at such a thought. His anxiety had too much control over him and his life choices. That’s why he stuck to writing songs and music for Lance.

 

_ You say so many times, how much you love me / But I know it’s not any more than friends /  _

_ So say, friend, could you fall in love with someone like me? _

 

Keith bolts upright, wide awake, and scrambles to find the pencil he threw. Where was it!? Aha! Keith frantically scratches down the lyrics he dreamt of into his notebook. With these lyrics, he might be able to finish the song in time! What time was it? Checking his phone, he saw that it was 4:32 in the afternoon. Shit. How did he fall asleep for over an hour? Now he had twenty-eight minutes to finish this stupid song!

 

Keith groaned in frustration, and suddenly there was a knock on the door.

 

“Keith?” It was Pidge, the technological genius roadie. She sounded concerned. “You okay in there?”

 

He clambered over the bed sheets and opened the door. Pidge stood there in a pale blue tank top and denim capris. Her short hair looked ragged as if she herself had woken up from a nap too.

 

Keith ran his fingers through his hair. “Pidge, I’m in a dire situation. I haven’t finished the song and I have twenty-eight,” quick phone check. “scratch that- twenty-seven minutes, to do so before Lance goes on stage for this small community!”

 

Pidge sucked on her teeth. “Uh, yikes.”

 

“I know!” he said. “But you can’t tell Lance, he’d freak!” before Pidge could defend Lance, Keith interjected. “And you know he would, so don’t even try it!”

 

She closed her mouth in acceptance.

 

Keith got up off the bed and adjusted his black sweatpants. He was wearing a hot pink McClain’s Summer Tour shirt, the dates and locations displayed on the back in black.

 

“I know you don’t know music that well, but I need help- he can’t sing an incomplete duet without the song and a partner! This is all my fault, Pidge,” he said, defeat clear in his voice. “I was irresponsible in my time management and now I’ve left the whole town down.”

 

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Keith, you didn’t let anyone down. Sure, Lance will be upset about not having a new song, but that’s his own fault for making a promise he wasn’t sure could be kept. And who knows? Maybe Lance was planning on having you be his partner in the duet.”

 

Keith looked up at her, confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“Come the fuck on, Keith,” she scoffs. “We’ve all heard you sing to yourself, you’re good at it. Lance thinks the two of you are very compatible, even if you do have stage fright.” she winked, a small smile on her face. “Everyone knows Lance cares about you, so it won’t be the end of the world if you can’t finish this song in time, okay?”

 

Keith took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, trying to calm himself down. “Yeah, okay, right, right… he won’t be totally p.o.ed at me, it’s just Lance.”

 

“Exactly,” she nodded. “It’s just Lance.”

 

“Speaking of,” Keith said, looking around the cramped tour bus space and not seeing his obnoxious friend anywhere. “Where is Lance?”

 

“He’s with the stage manager, discussing lights and sound and the whatnot,” she said, shrugging.

 

“Uh, shouldn’t that be your job?” Keith asked.

 

Pidge took off her non-prescription lenses and began to clean them off on her tank top. “You would think, but I would specifically be told not to because he wanted to do it so badly. He even begged Allura to let him do it by himself.”

 

“Weird.”

 

“Yeah,” she agreed, placing her glasses back onto her face. “Anyways, I can probably help you find a good rhythm to go with the lyrics you’ve written-” Keith’s face lit up. “-but, that means I’ll have to read what you’ve written so far. Or attempt to.” Keith bit the inside of his cheek. Pidge held her hands up in surrender. “I know! Trust me, I know you hate people reading your stuff before you can revise it, but honestly, if you want me to help, you’re going to have to allow yourself to feel vulnerable for about five minutes while I read what you’ve written. Okay?”

 

Keith hesitated. Even though he had chicken scratch for handwriting, he never showed anyone anything he had written in that stupid not-even-worth-a-dollar notebook. He didn’t want there to be the slightest chance of them deciphering what he’s written. However. That was for any normal situation. This was not a normal situation, this was a ‘Pidge please, I have just under twenty-five minutes and thirty-four seconds to finish this song before Lance needs it, and I’m panicking’ situation. Keith leaned backward and grabbed the notebook and handed it to Pidge.

 

“Thank you, Keith,” she said. “That was very brave of you.”

 

She then began flipping to the most recently written-on pages, her eyes flickering back and forth between the two papers as if she’s able to read them without a second thought. Her jaw clenches and her eyes darken just a skosh before looking up at Keith in dismay.

 

“Keith?” she says hesitantly.

 

“Yeah?” he says., the thoughts of  _ she knows, she knows, she knows, she knows- _ fluttering through his brain like a swarm of vicious moths and butterflies.

 

“...”

 

“What is it?”

 

“I can’t read any of this.”

 

\---

 

Keith found it very embarrassing to read his lyrics out loud to Pidge. When Lance sang them (the edited meaningless versions, obviously), they were always so beautiful. But when Keith read them out loud, in his raspy monotonous voice, they sounded ugly and sad; as if this was the journal of a girl who could hardly bear having her heart broken so many times over by the same person. And slowly, as Keith continued to read to Pidge, he could see the pity in her eyes. He could see that she felt sorry for him. For him, because he was in love with a boy who either didn’t reciprocate or hid his feelings very well. But finally, after working for twenty minutes on finding a rhythm, they found one that made it all sound cohesive and kind to the ears.

 

The lyrics weren’t done by any means, but Lance was known to be a master at improv on and off the stage, so that wasn’t their biggest worry as of right now. They grabbed the sheets of music (neatly copied by hand by The Pidge herself) and scrambled off the tour bus to look for Lance.

 

“Hey Keith,” Pidge spoke up as they jogged towards the small and flimsy stage the town had built. “If you ever want to talk, about Lance or anything, in general, I’m here, okay?”

 

Keith bit his lip. “Okay, Pidge.”

 

As they approached the stage, they could see Lance on the left side, tuning his guitar.

 

“Lance!” they both called, grabbing his attention. He looked up and saw them both, a big smile on his face. He lifted his hand in a wave. He was dressed in a simple black long-sleeved button-up with deep blue denim jeans on. He looked good.

 

“Hey, guys, what’s up?” Lance said, putting down his guitar. “I was just about to text you guys saying that the show was about to start in about ten minutes, what brings you down here so suddenly?”

 

“Well,” Keith began. “We have good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?”

 

Lance pursed his lips. “Bad news,” he replied.

 

Keith took a deep breath before speaking. “Bad news is that I didn’t finish the lyrics of your song, but-” Lance clenched his jaw. “-but! I did finish the beat, as to help you a little bit with improvising, okay? We have the notes on some music paper here so you aren’t completely helpless! Yaayy!”

 

Lance looked unamused. Keith put on a big smile.

 

“This is where you say ‘Thank you, Keith, for trying your best to write a song for me with such a small window of time! And thank you, Pidge, for helping Keith come up with a solid rhythm and notes in less than twenty minutes so that I don’t disappoint my fans! Yaayy!’ Or something.”

 

Lance’s mouth twitched slightly, meaning he was trying not to laugh. Keith took that as a victory.

 

“Twenty minutes, really?” Lance asked, looking at Pidge. She nodded. “Well thank you, Pidge. Did you tell Keith he was supposed to sing with me?”

 

“What?” Keith exclaimed.

 

Pidge shrugged. “I mean, I mentioned it, but I wasn’t entirely sure if it was set in stone yet.”

 

“Lance! You know I can’t sing in front of people!” Keith cried. “How am I supposed to sing this song with you?”

 

Lance thought for a moment. “Backstage setup?” he offered, his eyes teasing.

 

Keith furrowed his brow. With a backstage setup that meant he didn’t have to face anyone out on stage. Being backstage meant having the security of privacy. Keith liked his privacy. “Fine.”

 

“Yaayy!” Lance echoed, throwing his fists up in the air. Keith rolled his eyes. “Now go get changed, we can’t have you wearing a hot pink tour shirt, even if you are backstage.”

 

“Okay, okay!” Keith complied, turning around to go back to the tour bus and change.

 

\---

 

Keith has spent just about half an hour fussing over what he was supposed to wear, and Lance was in the middle of singing one of Keith’s personal favorite’s  _ Just Because.  _ He wrote it a few months after Lance’s career really took off and girls started to pay more attention to him just because he was famous. From the bus, Keith could hear the lyrics faintly.

 

_ Just because I’m suddenly known / Just because I’m here on my own / Doesn’t- mean I wanna be you, oh / Just because I can buy a nice car, or a really cool watch, or anything I want / Doesn’t mean I wanna spend it all on you, no / So let me drive my Camry, let me, let me be myself / Just cuz it’s fancy doesn’t mean it’s nec-ess-ary, oh-  _ And on and on Lance’s voice went. Keith found it near-hypnotic. But now was not the time to focus on Lance’s voice, now was the time to find something okay-looking. Keith realized he owned nothing that looked okay. Because Keith never finds himself on stage or backstage, he never wears anything nice. He always looks like a flaming garbage can that got put out with a car tire. Snazzy.

 

Then, he found it. A bright blue long-sleeved button-up. It wasn’t his, though. It was Lance’s. Keith pondered for a moment (and by moment, we’re talking about five seconds), before he quickly put it on, not even bothering to button it up over his gray undershirt. Buttons were a frivolous thing anyways. Keith quickly changed out of his sweatpants and into a pair of ripped up jeans before running his happy ass across the field and to the back of the stage. Pidge and Hunk were there, getting Keith’s set up prepared for him. They quickly slapped a mic to the side of Keith’s head and placed a battery pack on his butt pocket. There was a guitar, already tuned for Keith, and a mic set up by it. The guitar was Lance’s, but he decided not to use it this evening, instead of allowing Keith to do the honors during the duet. He felt like throwing up. Ugh.

 

Suddenly, Lance’s speaking voice cut through Keith’s thoughts.

 

“Alright, are you guys ready for my new song!?” he announced into the mic, the small crowd cheering in delight. “Any guesses on what it could be!?”

 

_ A love song! _

 

_ A duet! _

 

_ A rap song! _

 

_ Acapella! _

 

_ Piano solo! _

 

“I think I heard it! Did someone say a duet!?” The crowd went nuts. Absolutely insane. Keith had never been more happy to be backstage in his life. “Alright, so the person I’m singing with has a little bit of stage fright, so he’s going to stay backstage with my guitar while I stay up here with you guys, sound good?” A wave of agreement scattered through the crowd. “Good!”

 

Keith picked up the guitar.

 

“Are you ready, Keith?” Lance asked through the mic. The crowd grew quiet

 

_ No _ , said Keith’s brain.

 

“Yeah, I am,” said Keith’s mouth.

 

“Okay,” said Lance, a smile clear in his voice. “Hit it, then.”

 

And hit it, Keith did. The melody he and Pidge chose was soft, yet lively. The music sheets in front of Keith highlighted his vocals in bright yellow. Keith safely assumed Lance had a paper that was also highlighted. Slow and timid, Keith caressed the strings of Lance’s guitar. He could see where the wood stain was faded, he could see how Lance held his guitar. It wasn’t that much different than Keith’s way, he noticed.

 

_ You,  _ Lance, began.  _ were supposed to be my savior / You were supposed to help me heal / I wanna be with you because I want you, so tell me / Do you want me, too? / You say so many times, how much you love me / But I know it’s not any more than friends /  _

_ So say, friend, could you fall in love with someone like me? _

 

 ** _Do I want you?_** Keith whispered. **_Do I want you? / Growing up by your side, I’ve learned the ins and outs of you / I’ve learned that you love, that you’re kind, that you try to keep your words true / If you say that you love me, well then, I guess I love you, too_**

 

_ But do you mean it? _

 

**_Do I mean it?_ **

 

_ Do you? _

 

**_Your words aren’t empty but I know that your heart is / And I know you try your best to hide it / You don’t want others to know how scared you are, and that’s okay / It’s okay to be afraid_ **

 

_ Then why are you hiding right now? / Are you too scared to face me, to tell me the truth, that you insist on hiding away from me? / Tell me the truth _

 

Keith’s fingers stumbled on the chords. Lance shouldn’t’ve been improvising so early. He still had a good page left, what was he doing?

 

**_What are you saying right now?_ **

 

_ I’m saying face me _

 

And then, the heavy black curtain Keith sought out for shelter, fell. It wasn’t an accident, Keith knew this, because when he looked up to see the stage lights shining brightly into his eyes, he blinked and saw Lance, looking right at him. He tightly gripped the microphone in his hand and slowly approached Keith, stopping halfway across the stage. Keith’s fingers has a mind of their own and continued to play.

 

_ Why didn’t you tell me? / Why didn’t you say the things you meant? / You wrote me such beautiful songs, you told me what your heart wanted, yet you never said anything _

 

**_Be..cause it’s never about me / It’s always about you / Everything I do, I do for you / I don’t want to distract you or worry you, because you’re afraid to break my heart / I know you are_ **

 

_ Keith… You stand there as if you’re afraid to love me / As if I’m going to leave you for something better / I’m a musical inspiration, as the media loves to call me, and I’m from some rundown town in Oregon / With you by my side, there isn’t anything better than now _

 

Keith felt his heart and fingers stop. Lance didn’t mean this. He couldn’t mean this. Right? Right? Keith felt like the guitar was about to drop through his hands, his heart racing a mile a minute, so he gently set it down on the stage beside him. He then pulled off the mic and battery pack before stepping down and away from the stage. He felt sick. He had to go.

 

\---

 

Keith was halfway across the field to the tour bus before he heard Lance apologize to the crowd.

 

“I’m really sorry I- I have to go. Keith, wait!” Lance’s echoing voice sounded desperate. It was a tone Keith hasn’t heard from him since middle school in the seventh grade when their Language Arts teacher threatened to hold him back a year. Keith hated to hear Lance sound like that. It just wasn’t very Lance-like when he did. Keith paused in front of the tour bus’ doors when he heard footsteps approaching him rapidly. He turned around and at the start of the field, where all the dead and yellow grass was, was Lance. Keith sighed and opened the door, walking up the metal stairs. The bus was empty, as to be expected. Looking out one of the windows, he could see Lance halfway across the field, Pidge and Hunk not that far behind him, looking worried.

 

Keith honestly felt ill. He never expected things to go that way. He didn’t know that Lance knew how he felt. Did someone tell him, or did- oh God, did he read Keith’s journals? Keith’s stomach rumbled in anxiety. He needed to lay down. Keith opened the door to the single room, approaching the bed and shoving his notebooks and laptop off, and flopping down upon it, wrapping himself up in the comforter. Everyone has a distinct natural smell. Pidge smells like laundry detergent and vague vanilla. Hunk smells like the cologne he’s used since he was twelve, sharp and spicy. And Lance- Lance smells like candle wax and eczema hand cream. Like the kind dermatologists recommend you buy at Walmart for eight dollars. That kind. Keith has asked his friends what he smells like, just to sort of gain a sense of familiarity for himself, but nobody could come up with anything. One time, someone said he vaguely smelled of cherries, but that was it. Any other time, nobody could pull a smell from him. Where was he going with this? Oh, right.

 

The comforter smelled like Lance. ‘Nuff said.

 

Keith was broken from his thoughts when he heard a sharp knocking on the door of the bedroom.

 

“Keith?” It was Lance. He gently opened the door and poked his head inside the room. He looked out of breath. “Keith, I need to talk to you. Please.”

 

“I mean, you don’t, actually,” Keith said, his voice shaking. God, he hated having anxiety.

 

“Keith, please.”

 

“Lance,” he said, his voice stronger, wrapping himself tighter in the comforter. “Leave. Seriously.”

 

Lance bit his lip and looked down. “...Okay.” Then he closed the door, leaving Keith alone.

 

Keith didn’t like being alone, but he also hated to make an effort to see anyone. He didn’t like feeling dependent on anyone, so he waited until they approached him. Often times, Keith just found himself more alone than not. Even riding around on this bus, everyone would be off in their own little world doing something else.

 

Keith’s phone vibrated. He pulled it from his left butt pocket and checked it. It was a text from Pidge. He opened up his phone and read it.

 

**P: Hey, just checking up on you. You okay?**

 

Keith barked out a laugh.

 

**K: Literally you know im not so why bother**

 

**K: Did you know that was going to happen?**

 

The chat bubble ellipses popped up and disappearing several times before Pidge responded.

 

**P: He mentioned it once or twice, but it sounded like he was joking so I thought nothing of it. I didn’t know he would actually go through with it.**

 

**K: A warning would have been nice. Like you could have said, hey, don’t say yes to him asking you to do the duet he’ll humiliate you in front of dozens of people! Xoxo Pidge!**

 

**P: okay first of all,**

**P: I don’t talk like that**

**P: and second of all, you know Lance had no malicious intent behind this.**

**P: You do know that, right?**

 

**K: -**

**K: sure, pidge. Sure I know that.**

 

**P: Keith?**

 

**K: I should have stayed in Oregon.**

 

**P: Keith, you can’t mean that**

 

**K: Sure I can**

 

**P: Don’t make me come in there, I swear to god**

 

**K: Do what you want.**

 

**P: okay**

 

\---

 

Pidge shut off the screen of her phone and sighed rather heavily. She turned to Lance and bit the inside of her cheek. Lance turned to look down at her.

 

“What?” he asked. “Did Keith reply to you?”

 

Pidge nodded, sucking on her cheek. “Mhmm,”

 

“Well?” he asked. “What did he say?”

 

She sighed again. She turned on her phone and showed Lance what Keith had said. His eyebrows furrowed and he sucked on his teeth, his tongue clicking. He stood up from the grass and brushed away any yellowed blades and dirt. Then, he walked onto the bus. Hunk turned to Pidge.

 

“What’s he doing?” he asked, timidly, worried for his friends. “Are they going to be okay?”

 

Pidge shrugged. “Who the fuck knows, my guy?”

 

“Ugh, Pidge!” Hunk groaned, frustrated.

 

\---

 

Lance clambered onto the bus and squeezed his way to the back room where Keith was. He opened the door and saw Keith curled up in a ball in Lance’s comforter like he was earlier, his face still poking out. He looked as if he had just finished crying. Lance slowly approached Keith’s bundle.

 

“Keith?”

 

Keith’s eyes focused on Lance as if he didn’t know or acknowledge the fact that Lance had entered the room.

 

“What do you want, Lance?” his voice sounds rough and tired as if he just got done screaming into the suspiciously damp pillow beside him.

 

“I came to say that I’m sorry, Keith. Like, really, really sorry.” Lance said. “I didn’t mean to humiliate you- I just- I wanted you to know how much I truly care for you. I- I like you, Keith. A lot.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “I sure hope so, I’ve known you since childhood.”

 

“No, I mean-” then Lance looked at Keith saw that he was teasing Lance, a very familiar glint in his eyes that Lance hasn’t seen in a long while. “You little asshole.” he laughed, a big smile stretching across his face. A small smile blessing Keith’s face as well. He looked Lance right in the eye before speaking.

 

“I forgive you, Lance. Really. I just- I’m sad because somehow you figured out how I felt about you without me even needing to tell you. How did you do that? Really, tell me.”

 

Lance looked sheepish. “Well, I may or may not have read your journal every time you wrote me a song. Okay, but before you get mad please hear me out!” Lance paused briefly in case Keith started yelling, but he hadn’t moved from the comforter bundle. “The first time you wrote a song for me to sing was freshman year of high school for the talent show, right? And you know how I loved it? Like a lot?” Keith nodded. “Well, I just wanted to see your whole thought process behind it, so the next night when I came over and you fell asleep, I read your journal. I read it, slowly learning how to decipher your shitty, shitty handwriting, and in it, I found- everything. I found out how you felt about me. At first, I was appalled because I had no fucking idea, obviously, but as you wrote more and more songs for me to put on the internet and get myself out there more, and the more I read your journals, the more I realized that you really do love me.” Keith’s eyes went wide and his face went red. He began to cover his face in the comforter before Lance continued to talk. “And as the years came and gone, I realized that, even though I don’t love you yet, because we both know one day I will, I still really really like you and want to be with you..”

 

Keith blinked. “Really?”

 

Lance nodded. “Really. Also, I still have your journals from high school- except for the one you threw away after that huge argument with your mom.”

 

“Right… that one,” Keith mumbled. Keith didn’t like to remember that fight, however, he remembered that notebook clearly. It was during a brief moment in Keith’s life where he wanted all of his music and lyrics to be held in the nicest notebooks he could find at Walmart. His favorites were the ones with the magnetic clasps that had a nice solid click when you close them, which just so happened to be the kind of notebook Keith had thrown out after a very heated argument with his mother. She had read one of his old notebooks (before Lance could get his hands on it, apparently), and somehow figured out how Keith felt about Lance. She said that Keith should go for it, ask Lance out to the movies, buy him popcorn, the works. Keith had said no, that Lance didn’t feel the same way, so stop it mom get out of my room. But she kept pushing and pushing. 

 

Eventually, Keith yelled at her, she yelled back, and one of them, Keith can’t remember who but it was probably him, said something hurtful and immediately after that, all hell broke loose. They fought for what seemed like hours, the fight eventually ending after Keith stormed out. Looking back now, it was such a stupid thing to fight over. So so stupid. “I don’t even remember what it looked like.” he lied. He did remember what it looked like. As previously stated, it had a magnetic clasp on the cover and it was covered in dark blue paisley with a brown leather cover. It had approximately 120 pages in it and cost about seven bucks.

 

“Me neither,” Lance shrugged. “What was that argument even about? You never told me.”

 

Keith hesitated. “It was over something stupid, seriously. I get irritated even thinking about it, so I would rather not get into it, okay?”

 

“Okay, sure man no problem.” Lance nodded in understanding. “Anyways, wanna make out?” he said with a wink.

 

Keith raised a brow and finally sat up in his blanket bundle. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Lance laughed. “Awh come on, we both like each other, what’s the harm in a little smoochie-smooch time?”

 

Keith’s face went deadpan. “Lance I’m not kissing you right now,”

 

Lance looked crestfallen. “Awh, why not!”

 

“You do realize where we are? What you’ve done? That you dramatically ran off stage as if this is a movie and we’re just supposed to have a perfect ending with no repercussions?” Keith looked Lance dead in the eye. “Lance, I’m not mad at you, you know I’m not, I’m just worried that the press is going to want to involve themselves in on this. Unless some twelve-year-old girl in the audience was live streaming it on YouTube, then damn the press honestly.”

 

“When you say twelve-year-old girl, do you mean our nineteen-year-old tech junkie of a roadie named Pidge?” Lance joked.

 

Keith went silent. So did Lance.

 

“Oh my God, Pidge was live streaming.” They said at the same time. Keith tossed Lance’s comforter off of him and sprung out of the bed, Lance in hot pursuit. Keith stumbled down and out of the bus, falling onto the ground. He shot up quickly and turned to Pidge. Lance stopped himself right at the entryway of the bus, nearly falling as well.

 

“Pidge,” said Keith, rubbing his hands all over his face. “Please don’t tell me you did what we think you did?”

 

Pidge looked up at Keith innocently. “What do you mean? What do you think I did?” she asked, waiting for the answer she already had. Keith looked into her eyes and saw the mischievous glint behind them.

 

“No,” Keith whispered in disbelief. “You didn’t.”

 

She held up her phone. It was audibly playing the live stream she ended twenty minutes ago. On the screen, it showed Lance approaching Keith on stage and looking right into his eyes.

 

Both Keith and Lance felt their face heat up.

 

Keith was the first to make any sort of noise. He curled up in a fetal position, tucking his head into his knees, and gave a muffled scream.

 

Lance just zoned out and stared at the horizon.

 

“My- my mom,” Lance started, turning his head. His eyes remained unfocused. “She was watching wasn’t she?”

 

“I dunno,” Pidge admitted, facing the phone screen back to her, looking to see who was watching. “What’s her user on YouTube?”

 

“I’m not sure, something about how YouTube works, I think.”

 

“Uhhh,” she continued to scroll through the names, squinting her eyes. “Someone by the name of ‘Google how do I like videos on the youtube’, said; ‘Lance! Lance, it’s me, your mother! Hi! I love you!’ Awh, that’s cute. I love that. That was her right?”

 

Lance bowed his head and nodded. “Yep. Yeah. That’s- that’s my mom.”

 

Keith unfurls himself from his fetal position and into a seated position. “Your mother was watching!?” he exclaimed. He threw his hands in the air and laid down on the dead grass like a starfish. “That’s it, I can never face her again. This is so embarrassing.”

 

Lance looks down at him and steps onto the grass. “Keith, is that my shirt?”

 

Keith turns his head away, pressing his face into the ground. “What? No? No- this is my shirt. I- it’s mine now.”

 

“Why are you wearing my shirt?”

 

“Because my entire wardrobe consists of fuel for a garbage fire plus the actual garbage itself? Obviously?”

 

Lance rolled his eyes. “Your wardrobe is not a garbage fire, Keith.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Keith said. Then he turned his head back to Lance. “Don’t you have a concert to finish?”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Yeah. Now, go away. Go sing for another hour, then come back and lay in the dead grass with me.”

 

“Right, yeah, okay.” Lance complied, slowly walking away from the bus. “I’ll be back in about an hour, I guess?”

 

Lance then jogged across the field.

 

“Did you guys even kiss?” Pidge asked, watching Lance jog. He jogs weird. Like a man very unsure of himself. “Like at all?”

 

Keith shook his head. “Nah.”

 

“You guys suck.” She pouted, resting her chin in her hand. “Where’s the fun in stuff like this if it doesn’t end in a kiss?”

 

Keith sat up and looked over at her. “Who said it was over?” he asked, a smile playing at his lips. “We’re just taking a brief intermission so that Lance can do his job. Then, he’ll come back, the two of us will look at the stars when they come out, we’ll talk some more, about who knows what, and then we’ll kiss and it’ll be great.”

 

Pidge stared at Keith. “Did you just plan this?”

 

Keith shrugged, a gentle smile glued to his face. “Not for this particular situation, but I did have a general plan that involved talking and stargazing. It always ends with a kiss.” 

 

“Really?” Pidge grinned.

 

“Yep.”

 

\---

 

Watching the sunset with the person you love, was something Keith enjoyed very much. Especially when the stars came out after. As the two of them, Keith and Lance, looked at the stars, they talked about all sorts of things. Like how Lance managed to steal Keith’s notebooks when they became full, or how adorable Lance’s mother was, how crazy some of Lance’s fans are, and so on and so forth. Eventually, they reached the topic of what happened at the concert.

 

“Lance,” Keith spoke up after about ten minutes of silence. He turned to Lance. “why did you do what you did during the concert? Why would you put everything between the two of us out there for the public to see? That situation, to me, was a very serious one. It was unexpected and unnecessary. You know I hate to face things head-on.”

 

Lance looked at Keith, his eyes flickering and forth between Keith’s own. Keith knew what he was doing. He was trying to figure out what color Keith’s eyes were. Like always. “Keith, you punched the principal of our middle school in the eye. You got expelled. I spent eighth grade alone because you face a grown-ass man head-on.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “I mean socially. I can’t face serious social situations head-on. Physical situations? Yes. Social? No.”

 

Lance wiggled his eyebrows. “Physical, huh?”

 

Keith glared at Lance, his face heating up. “I need you to stop.”

 

“Why?” Lance teased, scooting closer to Keith as if they weren’t already a foot apart. “Scared?”

 

“You know I’m not,” Keith whispered, looking Lance right in the eyes. Right into his blue, blue, eyes. “I have never been scared of you.”

 

Lance leaned in closer. “Good.” he smiled. And then, oh-so-slowly, Lance placed a very soft kiss onto Keith’s lips. “Me neither.”

 

As Lance pulled away, Keith looked at him in wonder.

 

Lance was such a strong inspiration to millions of people. Millions. He donated to charity, owned five dogs, loved meeting new people, enjoyed receiving personal gifts in person from fans, and so much more. Lance was worth so much, financially, physically, and socially, to a lot of people, yet not once has he let it get to his head. He thought this entire experience was fun, always has always will. And yet, Keith will be the only person to really,  _ really _ , know Lance. His likes and dislikes, how he is when he’s tired when he’s wide awake, what he’s like when he hasn’t had caffeine in a while (irritable), how excited he is to see a random dog on the street… the list goes on, and Keith loves it all. The entire list. Everything.

 

Keith loved everything about Lance. Even the things he didn’t like. And this beautiful person was willing to fall in love with Keith.

 

Isn’t that amazing?


End file.
